The tap on my door was gentle but firm. A strange nurse entered and stood at the foot of my bed. “I have come to do you up.” “Have you?” I said, a little puzzled. “Aren’t you the Special who came from London to look after…

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Hokey had appendicitis; went up to London for operating; left me high and dry as a beach-log cast beyond flood-tide. I was nobody’s patient and was again a ‘Down’ confined to bed. When Bunker’s mumpy face and fallen arches shuffled round my room I feigned sleep.

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It was the San Event. Everything timed back to last year’s or forward to next year’s Picnic. Unless death actually had his finger poked into you, no one able to stand on his two feet missed the Picnic; otherwise he would be considered a funker. The Picnic…

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